


The Legend of the Robin's Song

by Pyxie_Dust



Series: The Million Lives of Jaime and Melissa [5]
Category: game of thrones
Genre: An AU of an AU, Birds, F/F, F/M, Forbidden Love, Night's watch and Queen, Nonbinary Character, Reincarnation fic, Starcrossed Lovers, skinchangers, you get the picture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 17:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21275048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyxie_Dust/pseuds/Pyxie_Dust
Summary: A fanfiction of an Au of an AU, am I in the matrix yet?





	1. Complications

A woman, clad in bright lavender clothing with a long mane of curly brown hair makes her way through an enormous stronghold. Regal and dignified she passes by many a servant and offers naught but a curt greeting, her deep brown eyes fixated on a far point at the opposite end of the hall. Her hands twist and grip one another over her stomach as her mind races a mile a minute. Words threatening to spill in a cacophony of sound upon ears that cannot, should not, hear. Such secrets are too dangerous for outsiders.  
  
A man, clad in black leathers with a short crop of like colored hair stands within a chamber filled with books and maps. They lie in the same stronghold, pouring their steel gaze into ledgers and books as their own mind neatly sorts out the numbers into calculations. One hand clasps their chin while the other rests against the page as while they are lost in thought. Their mind goes not as fast, but their lips murmur words to low and jumbled too hear. These are not secrets, but facts that need to be stated. Notions that need to be learned.  
  
The door swings open and the woman enters, “Jaime,” her harried tone makes the man look up with concern. She locks the door behind her and goes to them, pulling them into her embrace and burying her face in their chest. Holding tightly to their armor as she takes a deep, shuddering breath to inhale their scent.   
  
This action only makes them worry more, “Melissa,” they say as they wrap their arms around her, “What’s wrong my love? What is it?” Their hand shifts so they can cup her cheek as they tilt her head upwards to look at them, “Tell me and I’ll try to make it right. Whatever it is.”  
  
She gazes up at them, watery eyed but smiling, “Jaime,” she says breathlessly, “I’m pregnant.” Her hand takes the one they rest on her cheek and places it over her abdomen, “the Maester just told me today. She says I’m- I’m about a month along.” 

Jaime’s eyes go wide and they’re speechless for all but a moment, then they lean down and rest their forehead against hers. “Oh my love,” they say with  _ so much _ joy in their voice, “Oh my sweet love; we’re going to have a child.” Their hand is gentle where it rests against her abdomen, and they gaze at her with absolute adoration in their eyes, “I love you, my darling, with all of my heart, and I will love this little one as well. No matter what.”

And so they did.

~*~

Time would pass and the child would come. A little girl with brown curls like her mother, and grey eyes like her father, with curiosity that came from neither. Time would pass and family would be forced to separate. Time would pass and the family would reconvene. Time would pass and the Mother would have to raise a child, mostly on her own. Time would pass and the father would grow reckless.

For you see they could not act as a true father should while in the position they were in, an oath bound them to be without children. To be without a wife. If they were caught whilst in the arms of the ones they loved the most, it would mean immediate execution. For they would be named an oathbreaker: a crime much worse than any murder or rape.  
  
A murderer can be trusted to kill. A rapist to pillage. An oathbreaker?   
  
They can be trusted with nothing.

Their recklessness would grow apparent, though those loyal to him would do their best to explain and excuse it away:  
  
“The Queen in the North has requested that they attend a meeting with the other rulers of the realms so as to remind them that the Wall is not to be used frivolously as a prison.”  
  
“They are meeting with some of the Wildling settlements to see if any have news of the goings on beyond the wall.”  
  
“The Lord of Dragonstone will not allow us access to their obsidian and the Lord Commander needed to leave to renegotiate the terms we have set.”  
  
“The Bear got loose.”

However, excuses can only go on for so long, and more often than not a reckless action leads to a mistake. 

On one of these trips, the Father sought to leave their post in the early hours of the morning. Hoping to reach the Stronghold where their family was before any would miss them, or have need. They had alerted those who would protect them, they had sent word they were coming through someone they had trusted. What they didn’t realize, was that someone was lying in wait, had been for some time in order to catch them out. 

Abigail, a woman of short stature and lithe proportions, had come to the Wall many years ago now. Charged with crimes of Manipulation and Subterfuge towards the Crown, though which Crown no one was ever truly sure, she was sent to take the Black for the rest of her days. Upon reaching Castle Black she recognized the Lord Commander from when she had been younger, they had been children together in the same Stronghold. Though it was rare that they ever crossed one another. Jaime had been the child of a Smith, rather high up on the social ladder for their use in trade. Abigail… her father was a conman and a thief, he lived long enough to pass on this tricks to his daughter, but not so long to see the fruits of her labor.

She had made it her mission as a child to scoop them up and move up the Social ladder. However, back then they had escaped her feminine wiles. No matter what she did, what she tried, their eyes had never set upon her. Never lingered. Never even saw. Instead she watched as they threw themself at another girl with no true name, and no presence outside of when she appeared at the Smithy.

She hated that girl.

So the moment she saw them at the Wall her mission changed. She would take the position of Lord Commander from them by force, using all the cunning tricks she had learned to sow deceit and discord through the ranks in order to make it so. When she had amassed enough of a dissent within the Men and Women of the Night’s Watch. Then she would make her move, and when she had them beaten down in the dirt, she would make them pay for ever ignoring her and hindering her path to greatness.

She spies them making their way out of Castle Black that early morning. Hidden behind some tall crates that are stacked near the stables, she watches as they mount up and peel out of the main gates onto the road leading to Howlett stronghold. A smile she has never seen on them before practically plastered on their face. Once they’re out of sight one grows upon her own blood red lips,  _ keep smiling Commander, you won’t be for much longer. _


	2. Poison

Whispers work in strange ways when they are trying to spread around information. In some instances it can act like a brushfire. One word in the right ear, and everyone will know what the person wants to them; the problem with the brushfire however, is that it isn’t controllable. Words can become twisted, information can be misconstrued, so the truth can easily be lost along the way. In other instances, it can work like poison: where a drop here or there will lead to the degeneration of the intended targets.

This is how Abigail maneuvered her revenge on Lord Commander Steel. Using the small amounts of information she had gathered on their trysts, she spoke with key people within the Watch. Members who were not entirely loyal to the Commander, but always had a presence around them and their right hands. A tidbit about them vanishing here, a small implication of their falsehood there and within the day she could hear other groups talking about the rumors.

“I heard that the Lord commander leaves before the sun comes up so as not to be caught out by anyone else.”

“I’ve seen their horse missing from their stables more often than not these days.”

“I’ve noticed that their mind is almost always somewhere else whenever we meet with them.”

And then Abigail’s personal favorite, “I hear they have a secret wife.”

  
Now this one she didn’t have complete proof for, nor any inclination as to who that wife might be. However, she had noticed the subtlest of changes in their demeanor in recent months that might indicate this was true. Their attitude towards families of Wildlings passing through the main gate was softer. The tasks they give to those who would have been mothers and fathers are slightly lighter. The way they look at a newborn when, on occasion, a child comes from two members of the Watch. It was all there, but she could not use because no one else had noticed. Still… a rumor was a rumor, and this one working extremely well.

It took time for anyone of significance to hear the rumors. Anyone of significance being the Lord Commander’s close counsel, those who knew the truth behind the rumors. A fear took root within their hearts and they had tried counteracting the whispers with words of their own. Affirmations, that the Lord Commander was loyal to the Watch and the Watch alone. Rebuttals, towards quiet accusations that some of the other men when they pointed out their lacking leadership. Threats, poised at those who would say that, “perhaps we should ask the Lord Commander ourselves what the truth of the matter was.”

A rift formed between these two factions. Abigail playing both sides so that when the time came that the two sides should collide once again. The ensuing quake would not be two large masses collided, but one rushing forward and crush the opposing side beneath. She would watch as the arguments grew, as the counsel and the Lord Commander grew more frazzled whilst the other members of the Watch grew more agitated. She fed more lies and more information, and stopped any and all that might ask for a truth that wasn’t beneficial to her cause.

  
Eventually, she spots the Lord Commander hurrying to the Raven’s Tower with something in their hand. Thinking quickly she puts herself slightly in their way and bumps into them. Uttering many apologies she rushes back to her own quarters and quickly unravels the note they have stolen. It reads:

_ There are many problems here at Castle Black. I do not wish to worry you, though I must tell you that I may not return to your embrace for some time yet. I will come when I can, in the meantime I send my love, kiss Logan for me. _

Abigail is nearly faint with giddiness. This was the final nail in the coffin of the Lord Commander, all she had to do was show the letter to key people in her chain and the axe would come down.

~*~

What came next was swift and decisive. The Lord Commander had been cornered whilst making their rounds along the wall and knocked unconscious. Those in their counsel were given a similar treatment, but locked away within the Ice Cells with no method of communication. They had bound and gagged all three, and with the Commander they dragged them up onto the stage where they would normally address the members of the Watch. A haphazard chopping block had been made and their head forced upon it. As their mind was brought back to consciousness they find that Abigail is standing tall next to them on their left. On their right is a headsman with their face covered.

They look out and their eyes widen as the whole of the Watchmen have gathered before the display. Shouting and crying, “Hypocrite! Traitor! Liar! Oathbreaker!” and all other manner of foul names. 

They are soon silenced however, and Abigail begins to speak, “For the past eight years we have followed one who we have believed to uphold the laws of the Night’s Watch. We have listened and obeyed to one who seemed to be the epitome of what it means to take the black. Yet we are betrayed!” The crowd roars in agreement and Abigail motions to Jaime, “Our Lord Commander, our leader, the sharpest sword in the dark. Has lied to us for gods know how long about who they were, and what they represented.” Her hand comes up to beat against her chest, “Our Oath forbids us to take a wife or a husband. Our Oath forbids us to father or mother any children. For we are the watchers on the wall, the shields that guards the realm of men.”

The Oath is repeated by the horde of Watchmen before the stage, their angry glares directed wholly at the one on the chopping block. “Yet here they are before you, daring to lie to your faces,” she lifts up the note, and says, “They have a wife and child somewhere in the South. They have loved another in the way we are forbidden, and they have fathered a child in the way we are banned. For our lives are devoted to the Realms of Men! Not just one Man!” Once again the horde cheers. Jaime can see several faces in the crowd that are watching in horror, but remaining silent out of fear that they would be next. 

Abigail turns to them, “Lord Commander Jaime Steel of Howlett Stronghold, Second Bastard to Bear the Black,” that got a laugh out of the crowd. “Do you deny these crimes?” A silent pall falls over the crowd, the men and women of the Wall waiting with baited breath for an answer. Some are hopeful, some are filled with dread. 

“I do not deny these charges.”

A cry of rage goes up and the horde surges forwards, reaching and grabbing for some kind of purchase to release their anger. Several other members manage to keep the masses back as Abigail goes on to speak, “They admit to their crimes, now we relay the punishment. Deserters, Murderers, and Oathbreakers only have one potential path to redemption!” She turns towards the Headsman and nods. Said Headsmen turns and reaches for a massive greatsword and hefts it upwards as Abigail says, “EXECUTION!”   
  
As the roar of the crowd goes up Jaime bows their head forward; there is no shame or fear in their face. Just plain sadness. Their hands clench tightly as they hear the sound of heavy footsteps grow closer and closer to where they are kneeling. There are words they can say, perhaps even things they can do, but none of which are fast enough or bloodless. So Jaime braces for the inevitable… and blinks. 


	3. Flight

A young Robin flits about the towers of Howlett Stronghold, searching for an open window or door that mind allow entrance into the halls of stone. It finds one such opening into a familiar room and flits over to the windowsill; next to which sits a small crib, with an even smaller baby sleeping within it. Upon sighting the child the Robin trills happily and flits over to her side, nestling against her forehead in an attempt to wake the child. 

The attempt is successful as big silver eyes open slowly, focusing on the brown and red bird. She reaches out to grab the Robin and smiles, “Dada! Dada bird! Dada bird here!” The Robin tweets happily, but darts out of reach of the little girl. She rolls over onto her stomach and tries to reach for them once more, “Dada come here! Dada come here sho we play!” Once again the bird darts out of reach from the little girl, this time hopping up on top of her arm to make its way closer to her cheek. She giggles as the little feet tickle her skin, giggling even more when she feels rough feathers rubbing up against her cheek. “Dada shtop tickling! No more! No more! No more tickling Dada!” 

The sound of laughter makes the other person in the room stir, she sits up from her bed and turns in the direction of the crib where her daughter lays. “Logan? What’s going on over there?” She hears more laughter and a bit of tweeting, so she pulls herself out of bed to have a look. Upon finding her daughter being doted on by a small red breasted bird she smiles, “Well look who decided to come after all.” She reaches in and lifts up Logan by her armpits and holds her in her arms.

The Robin flies up and landed on the shoulder opposite the one where Logan lays her head. Logan’s mother smiles at the little bird and presses a kiss to the top of it’s head, “Hello Jaime.” Jaime titters happily and nuzzles against her neck happily. Elsewhere… they begin to cry.

Logan giggles at the tittering and curls up against her mother, “mama! Can make Dada shing?”  
  
Melissa gives Jaime a look, “Well? You heard your daughter, give us a little song my Love.” 

Jaime obliged and gave a small bow by bending forward and outspreading their wings. They open their beak and begin singing a sweet little tune, familiar to the other two in the room, but foreign to any other bird. It was soft and alluring, something to dance slowly to by the light of the candles, when no one else was watching. It carried the spring wind with each note, a summer’s storm with each crescendo, and a Winter’s flurry with each arpeggio. They sang with the fear in their heart that this would be the last time their loved ones would hear them. They sang with hope that these two, that were their hold world, would find a way to carry on even if they were not able to be there. They sang… just so they could say goodbye.

As the last few notes began to ring out in the chamber, elsewhere, an axe fell.

As the head fell into the basket the bird stopped singing.

A silence filled the world: the small world that contained three became two for just a moment. Then the heart beat, the eyes saw, and the claws felt. The bird began to sing another verse of the wordless song, this one slightly happier than the previous. Life would not be the same, life would be very hard, but they got to remain, and that’s more than anyone could ask for.


	4. Truth

News would come to Howlett Stronghold of course. The Queen in the North would be informed of the Coup d'etat by two deserters: Natasha and Maester Shuri. Through a miracle, and some ingenuity of their own, they had escaped their captors after a bout a year and managed to make their way to the Stronghold to inform her. They were beaten badly, and had only just barely made it without collapsing off of their horses even though the ride was only a two day journey. When asked for proof of Jaime’s death, they presented her with the bangle that they had made and never took off. 

Even then she didn’t want to believe them. She wanted to believe that perhaps what they saw was some kind of illusion or that Shuri had mixed up something she had seen in the flames with the present again. However, the worry and fear had already taken root. So when they asked for aid in retaking Castle Black, she agreed right away. An army surged forwards towards the main Stronghold of the Wall, the gates fell quickly, and the insurgents were quickly subdued. Abigail’s reign lasted all of six months before this, and in that time there was barely anything left to rule. 

She had little knowledge of all the complexities that kept the Night’s Watch. The monitoring of foodstuffs, the regulation of tool maintenance, constant updates on the other fortresses that lay along the wall. Not to mention all the internal disputes between the members of the watch within Castle Black. People who had cheated one another, fights that broke out if disputes were not settled, men and women being pushed from the top from the top of the wall out of spite. Then there were those who succumbed to lust and could not bring themselves to remember protection, or general health issues. As she had locked up the only Maester, those men and women were forced to deal with the problems themselves. So what was once a fully functioning assembly of warriors, had quickly become just another den of anarchistic iniquity. 

When the members of the coup had been apprehended and shoved into the Ice Cells, Melissa questioned them on the whereabouts of their previous Lord Commander. No matter how many times she asked, or how many times she threatened though, no one could answer. At least… no one in the cells. 

That night another member of the Night’s Watch approached the Lord Commander’s chambers. Where Melissa was currently staying. They could not have been older than eighteen, and they beckon her to follow them out, saying that they know where the Lord Commander is buried. The youth and a small group of other Watchmen lead her beyond the Wall towards a young grove of trees that surround an ancient Weirwood. There, just beneath the base of the tree, lays a patch of recently turned earth. She wants to refuse to believe still. She wants to hope that Jaime is still out there, hiding, safe, unknowing if it’s alright to return or not. Still she says, “dig it up.” The Watchmen oblige, slowly but surely removing the soil and the ice that has collected in the time since they laid the Commander there. 

The sun is rising by the time they are finished, and Melissa is on her knees, head bowed forward, fighting back tears of pain.

Back at Howlett Stronghold, a bird rests on the side of Princess Logan’s crib, looking out through the window in the direction of Castle Black. Knowing.

~*~

Abigail’s head rolls not too long after that day. Castle Black is restored, and Natasha is designated as the new Lord Commander. Melissa had told both her and Maester Shuri that they are welcome to forsake their vows and join her court. She had only just discovered an archaic law that allowed the Queen to release a member from the Night’s Watch if they deemed the punishment satisfactory. Something she and Jaime had both been searching for. However, both decline. Their lives were devoted to the Night’s Watch, they wished her well and departed after that. 

The day after that, when she has retired to her chambers, she allows herself a brief moment of weakness. Letting the pain, the rage, the sorrow, and the grief unleash from within her chest in the form of sobs. Though she tries to keep them as silent as possible so as to not alert anyone else to her pain. She holds herself tightly as she falls to her knees and bows her head forward, the tears fall in rivers, her nails dig deeply into her flesh. The blame she so desperately wants to place on someone, ends up falling on her, she asks herself, “Why?”

“Why didn’t I notice?”  
  
“Why didn’t I realize something was wrong?”

“Why didn’t I go to them?”   


“Why was I so ignorant?”

As she releases her grief, the Robin appears on the window sill with a determined look in it’s beady little eyes. Raising it’s wings up and out it begins to sing the song that they had grown to know so well. It flaps it’s wings and continues to sing as it circles the ceiling over the grieving soul, trying to get her attention. Trying to let her know that she is not alone. 

Melissa stops crying first, shock running through her at the melody of birdsong that filled the chamber. She glances up and stares at the bright red coloration of the chest feathers that fly fast overhead. The bird lands just before her, still singing that song, only now the tune is mournful instead of uplifting. She stares at the small thing, eyes wide and watery, and says, “Jaime?” The Robin trills and flies up towards her, making her straighten out and catch them in her hands. It rubs it’s head against her chest and makes sad chirps, trying to comfort her even though it’s so small. Her hands encircle the bird gently and she curls around it, “Oh my love, oh my sweet love. What happened to you, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry.” 

The bird trills a little angrily up at her, as if trying to tell her off for blaming herself. No one can be quite sure what a bird is saying though.

More tears fall from her eyes, but they come with small bits of laughter, “and you say I’m the most stubborn person in Westeros.” She gives them a tiny smile, “yet here you are, stuck in the body of a bird so you can stay and comfort your crying wife.” She laughs a little bit more, “I’m sorry love, but I think you took the title from me.” 

Jaime trills again, a happier note this time, and then hops up from her hands onto her shoulder. Settling there against her neck to be a small, but comforting weight for her. 

She turns her head and presses a light kiss to the top of their head, “I love you darling, please don’t leave.”

Jaime only nods and nuzzles closer. Nothing could make them leave, not ever again.


	5. Change

Adjusting to this new arrangement was a challenge on both parts. For Melissa, she could no longer hold them as tightly as she once would have for fear of crushing their small body. Nor could she ever feel their lips upon hers, or upon her body as they tell her they love her over and over and over. She couldn’t tease them, nor have them tease back. She couldn’t hear them say how much they loved her. She couldn’t hold their hand when she grew nervous, or unsure. She couldn’t do so many things and more, because of what they lost. However, even with so much change, many things remained the same.

They could no longer hold her, that is true, but they could always sit close so she knew they were near. They could no longer kiss her, but they could nuzzle her skin as much as they wanted. She could still tease them, but find that their teasing now involved elaborate pranks (mainly them hiding pens and other small important items). She couldn’t hear them say how much they loved her, at least not with proper english words. For every day they would do something sweet like bring her a flower, help her with her work, or simply sing the birdsong they had been since they found this form. She couldn’t hold her hand, but they would always remain near, aiding her decisions by listening from their perch somewhere in the room. 

It was different, and not the least bit unusual, but it worked.

Time would pass and people didn’t ask for explanations on the Robin’s presence. Time would pass and Logan would learn why the Robin was so affectionate, and why Holwett stronghold was tied so tightly to the Wall. Time would pass, fourteen years to be exact, and the Robin would die.

It wasn’t something sudden, but one could say it was unexpected. The Robin had lasted good deal longer than believed while Jaime inhabited it’s body. Normally a bird of that size would only last a good two years, but Jaime was stubborn and did everything in their power to remain. Their feathers had turned grey. Their voice had gone hoarse. Why by the time the death actually came, the poor bird couldn’t even fly anymore, it merely got around by riding along Melissa’s shoulder. 

The night of the passing, Jaime had perched next to Melissa’s pillow on her bed. Tweeting tiredly as they watched her go through her nightly routine, she had been talking about something that had to do with an envoy that was coming within the next two weeks. A small noble family looking to do trade with House Price, wood for gold or ore for gold or something along those lines. Jaime had stopped paying attention about halfway through. They just felt so… warm. The pillow they were sitting on was soft, and they felt comfortable, the urge to sleep lying heavy on their mind. The bed shifts and they turn their head and give a soft peep before Melissa leans over to kiss their head.  
  
“Goodnight my love.”  
  
The next morning, when Melissa rose to greet the day, the bird did not move. She would try talking to it, blow at it to ruffle it’s feathers, and eventually poke at it to try and get it to react. However, when she touched it, she felt just how cold the body was. 

Panic set in. Then pleading. Then grief once more.

Three times in her life,  _ Three times _ , the world had thought to take her love from her. The first when her Father was murdered. The second when Abigail had her coup. Now this, and this was too much. _ Why has the world cursed us _ , she thought,  _ Why couldn’t I just have been allowed to be with them as they deserved. As I deserved?  _

In her mind they were supposed to go together. That was the ending she had dreamed of, all those years ago when she had lost them the first time. They were meant to grow age, growing old and frail by each other’s side. They were meant to raise their daughter together. They, perhaps, were meant to rule this cold land together, keeping each other warm all the while. They were meant to hold her, comfort her, enshroud her with their love while she did the same as the years marched on. They were supposed to fall asleep holding one another as they drift off and go wherever it is that people go after they die. She was meant to look into their eyes and smile one last time while they were old, and grey, surrounded by each other. 

She wasn’t meant to go through the pain and grief of being left behind.

She lifts the cold body of the small bird off of the bed and holds it close one last time, whispering, “Goodnight My Love.” She wraps it gently, and places it in the fire, lighting the piece and watching as the little bundle is reduced to embers.    
  


~*~

  
A week would pass, and Melissa would pass her mourning in silence. Logan would notice and ask, but she would be too overwhelmed to answer her daughter’s questions. She stood stalwart and strong, as she had during those fifteen long years, trying to keep on as if nothing had changed. As if the ‘absence’ hadn’t returned. 

Many a day would go by where she would find herself waking up as the light filtered in through her chambers and she would wait. Back turned to the window, she would wait for the familiar birdsong to come through with the cool breeze. For a flash of color to dart out of the corner of her eye before it landed just before her on the pillow. Or better yet. She’d hear a whistling of that same tune, and a strong arm would wrap around her middle to turn her over. She’d see a familiar pair of grey eyes, and a low, sleep scratchy voice would bid her good morning before kissing her gently.

Many a day would go by and none of what she wished would come true.

So she would carry on.

On a day much similar to the one that came before the Robin’s passing Melissa was taking a quiet stroll through her Godswood, thinking about everything and nothing, trying to push the pain from her mind. She stops before the massive pale Weirwood, with it’s weeping face and crown of bright red leaves. She can see sorrow on this face today, as if it too was in mourning alongside her. Approaching it, she reached out and ran a hand along the worn lines of it’s face, feeling the contrast between the blood-red sap and the hard bark. 

_ Are you crying for them too? _

Birdsong starts up over her head, familiar birdsong. 

It’s quieter than before, so quiet that she almost misses it. Melissa looks up, and sees a small chick resting on a low hanging branch looking directly at her. The little thing seems to have been a few weeks old at most, already fully feathered, but not quite ready to fly. 

Not until today.

It hops up onto the side of the nest and raises it’s wings, pausing in it’s song for a moment so it can gain it’s balance. Then it jumps, and starts flapping madly. 

Melissa rushes over, hands out, chasing after the little bird as it falls, flies, falls, and flies some more. She sees where it means to land and reaches out a little more, catching the bird in her palms before it hits the ground. She pulls it close and gives it a glance, heart beating just the tiniest bit faster as the chick looks up at her. It peeps once, and then starts trilling the same song that Jaime did as the other Robin. 

“Jaime?”  
  
The Robin nuzzles her hand gently, looking as apologetic as they can while like this. 

Melissa chuckles and begins to cry, “you know, you should really give me some more warning before you do this again, ok? Three times is way too much.” 

Jaime trills apologetically and nods their head,  _ I’ll try. _


	6. Love

At one point, about a decade into Jaime’s second life as a robin, they discover that the envoy that Melissa had mentioned previously appears more and more frequently within Howlett Stronghold. It is lead by a steadfast and honorable woman by the name of Dorothy, whose original house was Baker. She discusses trade deals deftly, answers degrading comments with calm poise, and what’s more… she makes Melissa smile. 

There’s an ache that comes into their heart whenever they see this, or when they hear her laugh and the slightest hint of blush comes over her cheeks. However, it doesn’t last too long, they know that this is good for her. That Dorothy, or ‘Dot’ as she prefers to be called, is good for her. So every time this wonderful woman arrives at the stronghold, they get friendly. Flitting about her head and clinging to her side for small bits of time, trying to gauge if she’s good enough. If she’s right enough. They learn many things doing this: she is also widowed, she has a son who is only slightly older than Logan, her official title is regent though she does most of the heavy lifting, and she takes no shit from anyone. 

She’s practically perfect.

Melissa seems to think so as well, at least from what Jaime can tell by the constant blush, and the way their love’s eyes light up when she hears she’s coming. She’s holding herself back though, trying to keep the other woman at arm’s length, trying to not fall again. At night, when the two of them are alone, she’s constantly telling them that she’s only friends with Dorothy. That she wouldn’t choose anyone else, that she would never. But they see, and they know.

So one day, when Melissa and Dot are taking a stroll through the Godswood, they fly down with something small and bright in their mouth. A light snow begins to fall, and it dusts upon the women’s cheeks and hair, garlanding them in pure crystal, making them as regal as the legacies they uphold. They fly down towards the women and flit about both their heads, earning a chuckle and their attention. They take a moment to perch on Melissa’s shoulder, and nuzzle her neck gently, then fly over to Dot and place the thing they had in their mouth in her hand. 

A winter rose. The most beautiful bloom they could find. 

Dot’s eyes widen as she glances between the bird and the bloom, her gaze turns to Melissa for a moment. “Your Grace?” 

Melissa stares, slack-jawed and on the edge of anger, she makes to glare down at the little bird. To tell them off for making insinuating things that couldn’t possibly be true. Then she sees the look in their face, the earnestness in those beady black eyes, and feels herself deflate a little. 

_ Be happy darling. _

Her eyes water the tiniest bit, and she bows her head a moment, discreetly wiping away tears. When she looks back up at Dorothy she’s smiling gently, “It seems my… my friend and I were of the same mind set.” That get’s a blush out of Dorothy, and Jaime the Robin titters happily.

The two women court for a long while, both having known heartache well enough to want to be absolutely sure. It involves all the love letters, the supervised outings, the sweet talks, and the open flirtations that Jaime was denied in their first life. The two fit well together, complimenting each other’s strengths, covering the other’s weaknesses. In their talks they discuss their past loves, their lives, their children. They hold each other if a memory grows to be too much, they cradle one another when the world is too heavy, and they hold tight to keep the other from wandering too far into the dark.

Eventually a wedding comes. The houses are happy for the merger, the children are ecstatic for their parents, and the newly joined wives couldn’t be more content. The celebration lasted a fortnight, filled to the brim with good food, good fun, and enough joy for them all to believe it was summer once again. The two women are often seen dancing the night away, long after all the rest have gone to bed or passed out from the amount of mead they’ve drunken. Only one other is awake, watching over them both to make sure they sleep well once their feet are too sore to continue. 

The little Robin always perches in the high arches of the grand hall, or on a window sill where they have enough of a view of the whole without hindering anyone. It chirps and tweets, and sings along to the tune of the many songs that the bards perform. They stay far from Melissa, they stay far from Logan. Afraid that if they fly down, afraid if they get too close, they will regret their decision in letting her be happy. That they will immediately turn back on their choice to let her live on, and ruin what might be the happiest moment in their love’s life. So they continue to sit, distanced, separate… alone.

~*~

It lasted sixty years, both women growing well into their nineties before one of them passed. This was an age where it was a miracle if one made it to forty five, so to make it to Ninety with the same partner, it was almost legendary. They were beloved as benevolent rulers to their kingdoms, and fair judges when it came to crimes. Though their people might grumble about them during lean years, they would never utter a harsh word against the two. 

In the end, Melissa got some semblence of her wish. She passed, laying in bed, old and grey, with someone she loved at her side holding her tightly. They would be buried in the crypts beneath the stronghold side by side, their likenesses carved into the stones that would mark their graves. Concealed within the cool darkness that comes whenever death does, waiting for a time when they would be able to walk amongst the grasses once more. 

The Robin, Jaime, lived on.

Taking on the form of a Robin with each new life. Taking on the wind, and the flock, and the song that they had coined as their own with each incarnation. Each new body they inhabited ended up being the longest lived out of the entirety of the species. It baffled Maesters, that this specific species, that specific birds, were capable of outliving literal  _ generations _ of others. All the while maintaining one defining call, a call that wasn’t even passed on to the rest of the flock. Just a singular offspring. 

The Maesters strove to unfurl the secrets that were passed down through this lineage of bird. Tracking it back through the first origination of the song, up to the most recent. There were no active records detailing the Robin’s first moments singing the song, only a person who would comment hear and there. Stories passed down through families, some stating that they first heard the song on the day when the riots had broken out at Castle Black. Others stated that their grandfather said that the bird had started singing when it was rumored that the late Queen Regent was having an affair with someone. Though no one ever knew who.

That rumor seemed the most prominent, and the Maesters chased it to the far corners of the Howlett stronghold. Getting as many detailed accounts of it as they could, as most of the people who had heard the rumor had passed before the Queen it was difficult. Primary sources were few and far between, but from the multitude of secondary sources they managed to gather enough to formulate a legend about a queen and her lover. It was written down, and recorded amongst the scrolls of the Citadel whilst the story was passed down through word of mouth amongst the villagers of Howlett Stronghold. 

Children, who heard the tale from when they were very young, could often be seen racing through fields towards trees where Robins frequent. Searching the nests and branches for a bird that might sing the song. They were not allowed to touch the birds, for after the death of the Queen Regent, her daughter: Queen Logan, made such birds sacred to House Price. Stating any who might bring them harm would have to answer to her, and the blade she wielded. Their parents had often told them that they were lucky if they heard a stanza, blessed if they heard a verse, and  _ chosen _ (in the way heroes are) if they heard the whole song. None of this was even remotely true, what happened to the children, what adventures they went on after they heard Jaime sing, had nothing to do with the bird. If they just so happened to become a well renowned knight, or a heralded poet, or manage to win the hand of some noble or other; it had  _ absolutely _ nothing to do with the bird. 

At least… not to their knowledge


	7. The Song

A woman, clad in the dull brown robes of a maester with a chin length crop of ginger curls, makes her way through an enormous stronghold. Dignified and intense, she passes by many a servant and offers naught but a curt greeting, her bright green eyes fixated on a far point at the opposite end of the hall. Her hands grip tightly to a thickly bound tome as her mind races a mile a minute. Words threatening to spill in a cacophony of sound upon ears that cannot, should not, hear. Such ideations are too small for any general smallfolk to take note of.  
  
A man, clad in simple blouse and pants, bearing the crest of the house, stands within a chamber filled with books and maps. He remains within the same stronghold, pouring his soft brown gaze into ledgers and books as his own mind neatly sorts out the numbers into calculations. One hand is pressed against the desk, fingers tapping against the aged wood rhythmically, as he is lost in thought. His mind goes not as fast, but his mouth murmurs words too low and jumbled too hear. These are not secrets, but stories and legends that are meant to unveil truths in this trying time.

The door swings open and the woman enters, “Your highness,” her harried tone makes the man look up with surprise. She closes the door behind her and goes to stand by his side, placing the book next to the one on the desk. Flipping it open to a marked page and saying, “It’s stopped!”  
  
The man looks perplexed, “What has Maester?”  
  
“The song your Grace! The Robin’s song, the Robin has stopped singing!”  
  
He blinks at her, his confusion only growing more poignant, “I don’t understand Maester, the Robins have been singing all morning. It is quite irritating if I am honest, you can hear them out the window even now-”

“Not those Robins! _The_ Robin, the one Robin that legends speak about, the one Robin that has produced heroes and bards and all manner of famed person! It’s stopped singing!”  
  
The royal huffed, “Maester you can’t honestly believe those Smallfolk tales, that story has been passed down since the Age of the Long Night!”   
  
The Maester was indignant, “I do not need to believe it in order to know it is significant your grace! It is instrumental to the culture and the history of the Price family, of Howlett stronghold. It’s gone on to act as a support for the whole belief system that ties together the Old Gods with the Seven! It’s led many a smallfolk into the limelight, it’s even got historical backing to it! So the fact that there hasn’t been a single person whose heard a Robin sing _the song_ in the past six years is extremely jarring!”   
  
The Royal merely rolls his eyes, “It is of no consequence that something like that has happened, the story was bound to die out at some point.” He turns to his papers, trying to get back into the rhythm of understanding figures and numbers, “Now if you don’t mind, I have more important matters to attend to.”  
  
The Maester lets out a frustrated grunt and bustles off, “I’m getting to the bottom of this!”  
  
“You do that dear!”

The Maester and The Royal had been married for some time now, so this kind of argument was common.

Off on her own the Maester went about asking the smallfolk of Howlett Stronghold what they knew of the Robin. If they had heard the song, or if they’d spied a bird acting different than the others. Many of the villagers merely shook their head, telling the Maester that they’d only heard the story and never the bird. Some of the elders mentioned having heard the bird once in their lifetime, but only when they were very young. 

One of the oldest that the Maester encountered said she had heard the bird twice, “The first time was when I was but a young girl traveling through the town, I saw a Robin perched atop one of the branches of the Weirwood that drapes over the wall of the Stronghold. The bird was young, perhaps just a fledgling barely getting it’s wings. I thought it looked pretty at first, but as I continued to look, I realized it looked… quite sad. Then it began to sing, and I knew it was the song from the legends.” The old woman placed a hand over her heart, “such a mournful song, I’ve never heard anything so sad in my life. It felt like, like it was calling for someone, wanting someone special to hear the song so they’d return.”

The Maester had nodded and written this account down, “and the second time?”  
  
“Ah, that was not but seven years ago now.”

The Maester’s eyes widened, “Seven years ago?!”

“Aye Maester, the little thing was old, a different Robin from the last time. It seemed so tired, sitting upon it’s little tree. I remember I was passing the crypt of the Kings and Queens of the North when I saw it. So tired it looked, so sad, it tried singing. Oh did it try, but it sounded so broken, the song was more wheezing.” She sighs, “that poor thing must’ve been waiting too long, I think it finally gave up.”

And the old woman was right in a way.

See the Robin, Jaime, had spent many lifetimes waiting for someone who didn’t seem like they were going to come back. They’d waited, and waited, switching from Robin to Robin in order to last just  _ that _ much longer. In case Melissa would return. However, as the years passed, they began to lose more and more of themself with each change. Becoming wilder and wilder, until they could barely remember who they had been in the beginning. 

The last time the old woman had seen the Robin, the last time it had ever sang, was the very last life that Jaime had.

When that Robin passed, the last bit of Jaime’s Soul that had stuck true, finally let go and let itself get lost to the wills of the world. It journeyed and traveled far away, towards lands and seas beyond human comprehension. Finally coming to rest after so many toiling lives.

The Maester left the Old Woman after that, still stubborn and stalwart in her mission to discover why the little bird had stopped singing. Thinking that perhaps some of the people that lay on the outskirts of the Stronghold’s boundaries will know something. She leaves the safety of the city gates and treks along the hardened dirt road towards the farmlands that lay at the edge of one of the rivers that journey southwards to meet at the Trident’s Fork towards the South. Here there are many people going about their business: washing laundry, fishing, bathing. They give her a jovial wave as she crosses a bridge towards one of the barns.

A rivulet branches off from the main waterway and snakes its way along the road she is walking. Not yet wide enough to carry fish, but still broad enough to have carved it’s own divot into the soft ground. The burbling and bubbling of water coursing along provided for an excellent white noise as the Maester tried to wrap her mind around this conundrum. Such a noise was just loud enough to cover up most other noises. Birds tweeting, the lowing of cows, the braying of an ass, the bleating of sheep, and… the whistling.

The Maester stops in her walk, not quite sure if she’s hearing it or imagining it, but as she stills she hears it continue. 

_ The Song. _

Her head swivels this way and that, looking for anywhere that might allow a bird a moment’s respite by the water. But there’s nothing. No trees, no bridges, not even a tall stone for such a creature to perch upon. 

Still the song persists. 

So she chases it, running along the path of the rivulet of water to search for the source of the noise. Intent on finding just one bird that might be singing so mournfully…  _ wait. _ She stops in her tracks, listening to the song. The old woman had said that the last time she had ever heard the song, it was sung with a mournful tone. However, now that the Maester is hearing it herself, she finds it’s uplifting. It is happy. 

Once again the Maester turns her head to find the sound. Wondering what could cause such a dramatic shift in such a well known tune. 

Then she spies it.

The source of the song. 

Sitting by the river are two children, no older than six, one girl and one… child. The girl sits by the other’s side, her head resting on their shoulder with her hair half draped across her face, fast asleep. The child has one arm wrapped around her while the other tries to braid some of the loose locks that fall across. That child is whistling. Whistling the same song that the Robin did. 

The Maester stares quietly, surprised by such an image, and then she remembers the written tale:

_ There is a Robin that lives amongst the parapets of the Howlett Stronghold, one that is different than all the rest. It sings a song that plucks at the heartstrings of man, and renders even the most unmoving to tears. The reason for this, is that the Robin is singing for their lover, a Queen of the North that has long since passed. Hoping that her Soul might one day hear the song, and return to them so that they may be in each other’s arms once more. _

_ Many a year has passed since the last time they knew her. Many a year has passed since they knew love. But such a creature has the patience of a saint; so they will sing, and they will search until they find her. Holding her close, and never letting go. _

The child holding the girl turns to her as they whistle, kissing the top of her head in the innocent manner that children do, and the Maester knows.

They found one another again.


End file.
